Call Girl Confidential Read Online Free Page B

reflection. I knew I would take a long hot shower when I got home. But I also knew my answer by the time I had hailed a cab. With his generous tip, I had $4,500 in my purse—in cash. The cab ride would be no worry this time. Yes, I would do it again.
    I called Kristin as soon as I got into the taxi.
    â€œWow, you were there for a good long while,” she said. “How was it?”
    â€œDifferent,” I replied. “I don’t know if I know what I’m doing.”
    â€œOh, you know what you’re doing, honey.”
    â€œI felt guilty—he had a wedding ring on,” I fretted.
    â€œGirl, did you just fall off the turnip truck?” she chided. “Half the men you’re going to be with are married. They’re faithful to their wives when they’re home in East Ashtray, Texas, but when they’re on the road, well . . . what their wives don’t know won’t hurt ’em. I think married movie stars call it a ‘location lay’—ha. Listen, he paid you in cash, right?”
    â€œYes, I have it.”
    â€œGood,” Kristin said. “You wanna work tomorrow night?”

FOUR
one of the girls
    W hen I finally got home, I couldn’t get the keys in the lock quickly enough. I stripped down completely. I put everything in the washer and jumped into the shower. I was numb. I slid down onto the shower floor, hugging my knees, and cried.
    I prayed, Please, dear God, forgive me. I cried all night, and I was afraid of God all night. In the morning I snapped out of it when I looked over at my daughter’s empty room. Anything, I thought . I will do anything to get her back.
    If the worst thing I do is let others take my body to pay these impossible bills, I will answer to God for that. But she will notsuffer because her father wants to go to war with me. I will give everything I have, even my body, myself.
    I ran out of funds just a few months after the custody battle began in 2005. Soon I would go to work at my regular day job and then afterward I would work for Kristin. I was working days and working nights, because Isabella was not in my home. She was with him.
    I don’t think I ever felt comfortable or got used to the idea of working during my time as a call girl with Kristin. Maybe it was the clients, or maybe it was seeing the other girls and how they reacted to the job. Sometimes I couldn’t tell if I was crying because I missed Isabella, I was disgusted at myself, I was sad because I felt I was losing in court, or because no matter how hard I worked, it was never enough money. I could feel myself falling apart. There were days when I thought I was truly losing my mind; I would have panic attacks and breathe into a paper bag to try and get myself to calm down. I realized more than ever that I had to separate myself, the girl I truly was, from the girl these men wanted and needed me to be and that I was getting paid to be. The effort it takes to achieve that is nearly impossible but absolutely necessary. It never got easier to do the job. The only thing that got easier was pretending that it didn’t bother me and that I loved each and every one of my clients. There is no time for a real life. You go into survival mode. And that is what I did and have done for years.
    I would pull all-nighters for Kristin, sometimes working until four or five in the morning, then get a couple of hours of sleep and get to work by 8:30 a.m. Then I’d do it all over again. It was exhausting, but I had to pay the attorneys and the rent on my apartment and buy Isabella things. And I had to look good for my night job, and that cost money. A lot of money.
    A regular girl running around New York may think about her manicure and pedicure, her highlights and waxing and even a few extras along the way, but an escort for whom men pay thousands of dollars is at another level of maintenance entirely. The clients expected it. No, they demanded it. I had to make